The Beginning
by AAnnR
Summary: Heather didn't want this. All she's ever wanted was to be normal, but with her parents kidnapped and accidently placed into an orphanage for gifted children to avoid the kidnapper it seems as if fate is never going to grant her that small mercy. No, fate had other plan for our cursed Heather- a path not even a new beginning could move her from. Rated for language, drugs, and death.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Death Note, but I have not participated in the development or creation of its franchise. Therefore, I can only say that these characters, apart from my OC, are borrowed for unprofitable consumer enjoyment._

The Beginning

By: AAnnR

**Chapter 1**

My eyes fluttered open, grogginess fogging my sight. My gaze traced the slick, unblemished plaster above, as I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth. _Had the ceiling always been that color?_

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, pulling dried eye crust from the rims. I shrugged, yawning, and rolled over, tugging the heavy covers of my bed over my head. I curled my legs up to my chest, basking in the warmth the blankets provided.

Judging from the clean smell wafting from the sheets, mom recently changed them. I took in a deep breath, reveling in the scent, a memory pulling at the edge of my consciousness and I closed my eyes.

Pine and maple trees in fall, the forest's light musk floating through the air. My father's deep and guttural laugh intertwining with my mother's light tinkling giggles, their hands laced together by fingers and palms. My mother's hair matched the burned orange of the fall leaves, twisted back to keep from falling in her face. He pulled her further into the woods, showing her the way, steadying her with his strength.

Faintly the door clicked open, throwing me from my dream. I groaned softly, yearning to continue my broken delusion a little longer.

"Miss Flian," a deep, vibrant voice broke through my dream. I attempted to bury myself deeper in to my nest of heavy cloth as the aged voice continued, "Would you consider eating something today?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to move. I prayed with every inch of my body he'd leave soon.

"I see." He coughed, the sound muffled. "Well, if you do happen to become hungry, there is food in the fridge. I'm sure you know the way."

I whined quietly as he closed the door, his footsteps descending down the hall. Even just the mention of food ignited a warm hunger in my belly.

My eyes began to drift closed again in hopes of reclaiming my stake in the world I had been rudely pulled from. I grumbled at the man for interrupting my dream, frustration and annoyance ringing through my head. _Why couldn't he have waited a few more minutes?_

A logical part of my brain sang out, its tone defiant to my emotions; _he's just concerned for me_.

Concerned.

Why couldn't everyone just mind their own business? Was it too much to ask for the world to ignore me?

I threw the blankets off, my eyes watering for a moment at the sudden temperature change, continuing my grumbling - I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again for a while. The brief escape I had found was gone, leaving me with only a taste of a memory.

The bed squeaked, my weight rolling to the edge as I sat up and flung my legs over the side. The ground was so cold and unforgiving I contemplated rolling back into bed. But I refused to give into my petty whims; I wouldn't be able to find the previous comfort in the depth of sleep now that I was reminded of, well, everything.

I crossed my arms, rubbing them with my hands. Goose bumps rose on my skin as the coolness of air conditioning assaulted the thin amount of warmth my skin had managed to soak up from the comfort of the blankets.

The room was elegantly decorated. Warm colors accented the furniture while the walls were tastefully adorned with beautiful paintings. It was spacious; the furniture pushed against the walls creating a large space to house a plush red rug.

The dark brown floorboards creaked as I walked across the room to the open closet. I dug through the lone cardboard box, rifling through belongings and clothes before I procured a tattered hoodie and faded jeans from the unorganized mess. Stripping off my borrowed negligee and tossing it onto the bed, I pulled on my clothes, eager to finally wear something of my own.

But dear _God_, I needed a shower. I felt the grime as my skin rubbed together in an effort to pull on my clothing and shivered.

Dressed, I gathered my hair to the side of my head, sliding my fingers through the knots, careful not catch my fingers on my left earring. I couldn't remember the last time I'd pulled a brush through the tangled strands; it was probably some time before my arrival. I grabbed the lone hair tie from the top of the dresser and bound my hair into a low side pigtail before stuffing the long strands into the neck of my hoodie.

I peeked out the door, glancing down either side of the hallway. It was deserted; _thank_ God. I carefully shut the door behind me, and began my journey down the hallway.

Large, paned windows lined one wall, the navy curtains pulled back to allow natural light to grace the corridor. The other held dark brown doors, the wood matching the floorboards and paneling. Each of the doors held a light wooden plaque, names etched and hand painted into each one. In the spaces between the doors hung more paintings, each displaying a scene of nature.

The hallway was long and wide with the morning sun painting a bright atmosphere. The air seemed to ooze spring and laughter, the trees and bushes outside bearing thick foliage, the grass as thick as carpet. Several hordes of children played in the sunlight - running, walking, and climbing.

I turned away from the windows, instead finding a semblance of comfort in my lone shadow moving on the wall, legs and arms pulled impossibly long.

The hallway turned right, meeting with the grand staircase before dipping to reveal a beautiful entrance way. A deep red carpet laid in the middle of the marble floor below, sitting before two massive, wooden doors.

I braced myself against the banister and I made my way down the stairs, my head thrown back to watch a chandelier - silver iron twisted to dangle crystals catching lights and glittering eye catching rainbows. I smiled to myself, re-positioning my head back to normal, tucking my hands into the hoodie's pockets.

The kitchen sat down a corridor to the right of the staircase, behind a set of dark wooden revolving doors. Silver, stainless steel appliances were accented by dark wooden cabinets and black marble counter tops.

My stomach growled at the sight of food, a basket of confectioneries sitting in the middle of the island. I snatched a couple, hiding them in my hoodie's pocket before opening and rifling through the refrigerator. The appliance was packed to the brim with fruit, vegetables, and bottles of various substances. I shoved an apple into my pocket, before continuing my search. A piece of cheese in the back of the appliance caught my eye looking incomparably delicious.

"Ahem," someone coughed behind me. I hit my head underneath the shelf of the refrigerator, hissing in pain. Holding the back of my head I turned around, careful to not repeat the action.

In the doorway stood an elderly man, his hair peppered, a thick pair of glasses settling against the bridge of his nose. Deep lines worked the edges of face, obviously the work of years of intense emotions and circumstances.

Amusement twinkled in his eyes, "Did you get hungry, Miss Flian?"

I grunted in response, stuffing my hands into my pocket to protect the result of my fridge raid, before nudging the door of the refrigerator shut with my foot.

He nodded to the exit of the room, "Perhaps you would be willing to accompany me to my office?"

I frowned, bringing my hands up and gesturing.

"No, no." He shook his head, the sleeves of his tweed jacket showing the skin of his forearms as he rose his arms in a gesture of negation. "Definitely not in trouble."

I shrugged again, tucking my hands back into my hoodie. He held the door for me before leading me to his office a bit farther down the hallway. The plaque on his door was similar to the ones on the second floor, the etching and paint making out a single name: Roger.

He again opened the door for me and I stepped inside, admiring the uniformity of his office. The desk was strategically placed in the middle of the room, immediately before a large window looking off into the courtyard where the children continued to play. Bookcases lined the walls, old tomes spread to allow room for pictures and dusty trinkets. Two chairs sat before the desk, settling on dark brown wood.

"Please." Roger walked passed me to get around his desk, "Take a seat."

I did as I was told, took one of the pastries I'd grabbed from the fridge from the pouch of my hoodie, and took a bite. It was delicious; a sweet mix between banana and vanilla.

Roger shuffled through the drawers of his desk, pulling out a file to set on his desk. He opened it, searching through the papers, mumbling to himself. "Birth certificate. School records. Family records. Health... Ah, here we are," He exclaimed, setting the paper to the side before closing the file. Roger sat back up, took a quill, and dipped the tip in a small vial of ink. He began writing onto the paper he had pulled out from the file, his glasses fell down his nose as he bent over.

I sat back, finishing up my pastry, licking my fingers to clear away the icing stuck on my skin. Fishing another pastry from my pocket, I hummed at the new flavor as I brought it to my mouth and took a bite—this one held an apple filling.

"Ahem," Roger cleared his throat again, catching my attention. He set the nib in the ink bottle and pushed his glasses back in place before settling down, his forearms and elbows on the table. "So, Miss Flian," He began, his deep voice light and pleasant. "Do you understand where we are?"

I nodded. We currently resided in England—even I could understand that when most of the children around the mansion spoke in heavy accents with intense diction.

"Good," He nodded. "England has such a beautiful country. The towns are widely placed. The closest one is about twenty miles north."

I stared, the pastry in my mouth becoming tasteless. I dropped the baked good on the ground in my hurry to move my hands, creating hand signals and shapes with fingers sticky with butter and glaze. "So far?! I thought we were close to London!"

Roger shook his head, his glasses sliding down again. "Certainly not, Miss Flian." He pushed his glasses further up his nose, fixing their position. "We're about two hours from London."

I slumped in my chair, my head falling into my hands. Now what was I to do? I needed to be able to get to London with ease. London would have information, clues, leads—and I had no way to get there.

"Now, Miss Flian," Roger's voice had lost his light, jubilant tone. "What's wrong?"

I sat up, my fingers signing the words to him, "I want to find my parents."

"We understand that, Miss Flian," Roger's eyes crinkled in the corners as his face split into a smile. "We have the best looking for you parents. There is nothing to worry about."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't trust the police."

"Now, who said anything about the police?"

* * *

><p><em>Edited 121/2014: _This story was edited by a wonderful beta by the name of gamegirl07. She is truly wonderful and fixed a great many things wrong with this chapter!

_Edited 1/31/2014:_ Also joining the team of editing and making sure my writing is not grammatically inferior is Artificial Identity...In addition, a beautiful idea guru is making sure the characters (especially the OC) stays out of the Mary-Sue area. allow me to introduce Grace-Logan. So, effectively adding a tentative three wonderfully intelligent writers to my beta helpers - where would I be without them?


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Sometimes I wish I could have the talent and discipline to create a manga this beautiful...instead I creating a work based off of something I do NOT own._

**Chapter 2**

"Now that that is out of the way," Roger picked up his quill again, rubbing the nib against the lip of the ink bottle before settling it above the paper. "Tell me something about yourself."

I stared at him, "What?"

"Oh, anything dear." He smiled. "This is your time. We can talk about anything. Or everything, if you prefer." He set the quill down, leaning back in his chair, chuckling as if he were enjoying some private joke. "Some of the kids use the time to vent, others for a sympathetic ear. A few just ask questions for research assignments."

I nodded, taking in the information. I was hesitant, but I still wanted to talk about my parents, so I moved my hands, creating the symbols for "I miss my Mom and Dad."

Roger nodded, his expression becoming grave, "I'm very sorry." We sat for a moment in silence, the words hanging in the air.

I remembered, for a moment, the disgust I had for that phrase. The words didn't solve anything, only serving to rip open the wound in my heart further. I was sorry. But sorry implied that, being involved, you solve the solution using your mutual understanding of feeling and acceptance. Roger wasn't sorry, he pitied my circumstance.

"I dreamt of them last night," I sighed, bitterly refusing to look at him. "They were walking in the forest, holding hands."

"A memory?" He leaned forward, writing on the piece of paper.

I shook my head from side to side, desperately wishing it had been real. "Just a dream."

"Did they talk?"

I shook my head again. "Just walked." How I missed the voices of my parents.

"I see. I bet it was nice to see them again."

Irritation rose in my throat, remembering his interruption earlier this morning. Had he not, I could still be in bed, watching my parents.

"It hurt more than anything."

I didn't blame Roger and a logical part of my brain informed me of my inability of doing so. It knew where the dream would have turned—my beautiful dream, so full of love and memories, morphing into nightmares of. . .

I closed my eyes, allowing my hands to move on their own. "I wish I could see them again. I want them to be okay, to be safe—but something in the back of my head is telling me that they couldn't be, not after. . ." My hands froze, I couldn't allow myself to express this feeling into words.

"Of course," The voice was solemn, the deepness reverberating throughout the room. "It's normal to have doubts, but I'm sure they will find him."

I blinked at him, "How do you know that? Can you guarantee it?"

Roger chuckled, "Not only can I guarantee it, but I can wager with you. I'd bet my life." I felt a weight lift partially from my shoulders as he leaned forward, his quill resting in his hand, forgotten, ink dripping onto the desk. "Do you want to know a secret?"

I nodded, leaning forward. I felt silly, leaning as if he were going to whisper something scandalous into my ear.

"The person working on your case is a world renowned detective, named L."

I scanned through a list of names through my mind. I signed an 'L' to Roger: "Who would have a letter as a name?"

"Yes, Miss Flian. L." He nodded to my sign. "The greatest detective in world. His success rate is at one hundred percent." Roger leaned back and began writing on the paper before glancing to the side. "Oh my." He squinted at the clock on the wall. "I have a meeting in a couple of minutes, would it be alright to end it here?"

"Yes sir," I signed, but on the inside I had so many more questions . . . there was so much that he still hadn't told me.

"Excellent. Don't be a stranger. If you need anything come straight to me. I'm almost always here." He stood, showing me to the door. "I expect you back in my office tomorrow tonight, at seven, please."

I nodded, glad to have the opportunity to come back to talk to him again.

He smiled, "Good, good!" Then the door closed and I found myself out in the hallway.

Thoughts flew through my head. Who was L? A part of my brain provided the information Roger had given: L was the greatest detective in the world. Someone Roger thought could find my parents.

Happiness flowed through me at the thought, warming my heart as I walked down the hallway back to the grand staircase. If it were true, I would be home with my parents before I knew it! I felt a smile creep on to my face as I saw the familiar glow of the chandelier and I rushed to stand beneath it, watching as the glittering lights danced above me.

I threw my head back to stare straight up into it and spun. The rotating lights were dazzling, small beautiful stars that circled around before my eyes. I giggled, basking in the simple pleasure this action brought me.

For a moment, I was reminded of laying beneath a Christmas tree, looking up to watch as the stranded lights sparkled. I could practically smell the pine—

"Hey, asshole!"

Something rammed into me, knocking me to the floor. I cried out as I fell face first, the hardwood painfully connecting with my nose. I stayed still for a moment, allowing the shock to go through my system.

Laughter echoed through the entrance way as feet pounded away. I hissed, clutching my face in both hands, attempting to gather myself from the floor.

God, what hit me? A train? I whined, the noise moving through my throat and nose, tinging a damaged nerve, growing quickly into a full blown headache. I touched beneath my nose, searching for liquid and sighing in relief when I found dry skin.

"Fuck, what the hell?!" A masculine voice lilted upwards, his voice breaking. I whipped my head around, searching for the source.

He sat, sprawled across the floor, clutching his head. Long, golden hair fell down, the strands cascading through tanned fingers. His long limbs were confined in a loose tee and dark jeans hugging on his frame.

"Fucking Matt!" He growled, flipping his hair back. Blue eyes glowed with anger, his features etched severely into a scowl. His glare pierced into me, "Who the fuck are you?"

I felt my temper rise and shrugged, making to stand, wanting to put as much distance between me and the boy as possible—why was he angry when I was the one who had been plowed into?

"Fuck you, don't just ignore me."

I huffed, rolling my eyes at his language and began to climb the staircase, using the banister for support.

"Hey, bitch!" I peered over my shoulder, watching him as he jumped up and strode up behind me. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, walking away from me?"

I continued up the stairs, his footsteps following along behind mine.

"I'm talking to you!"

I stepped onto the top, turning to walk down my hall.

"Don't just walk away!" Was it possible to find a voice so piercing? The decibel made my head pound, the sound pulsating in my ears. My feet went faster, trying to carry me away from the following boy behind me.

"God, what are you mute? What the hell is—" A hand caught my shoulder, but I was already spinning around to face him, stunning him to silence mid-sentence.

I began gesturing wildly, my hands flying in front of his face, forming symbols. "Your language is offensive, knock it off."

For a moment his eyes widened, not knowing what to make of what was happening in front of his face. Then, as his eyes melted into recognition, his scowl crawled back on to his face.

"So you can hear!"

"Ya? Good job, goldilocks."

"Fuck you," He crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side, squinting at me, his blue eyes calculating. "Then you should be able to talk, if you can hear me . . . tongue-less?"

I shook my head, frustration replaced the happiness, deflating my good mood drastically. "It's none of your business."

"Everything is my business," He crossed his arms, a smug smile stretching across his face.

I shook my head, "Like you could make me talk."

His grin turned devious. "You want to bet?"

"No." I frowned and walked away, eager to escape his arrogance.

"Secrets don't make friends, Miss Flian!" He called after me, a shiver working up my spine. I froze and turned around, but found no boy standing at the top of the stairs.

* * *

><p><em>Edit 125/2015: This edit has been brought to you by the magnificent gamegirl07. I am eternally grateful for the work and dedication she has given to make this chapter that much closer to perfection._


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Sometimes I like to sit back and imagine what my would be like if I was rich...then I come back to reality where I own nothing but a computer and work my butt off at school. But if I did own Death Note - or was at least rich - I'd have others write fanfiction for me, so my adventure would never end._

**Chapter 3**

My head pounded, my veins pulsating painful throbs. Frustration rolled through me, the boy's voice on repeat in my ears. My name. He knew my name. I hadn't told anyone my name—save for the police and Roger.

A voice in the back of my head chastised, _He could have overheard Roger calling you Miss Flian._

I rolled my eyes at the voice. Of course I had considered that possibility, but it was the way he had used my name, the way syllables had rolled off his tongue, his tone interlaced with the words. Something told me he knew something. Or at least thought he knew something.

I shook my head, the pain in my head increasing with the sudden harsh movement. The happiness I had felt earlier was gone, zapped away with the stick of a boy that had plowed into me. I sniffed, testing the airway of my nose, surprised to find it still clear.

I continued down the hallway, the brightness of the morning sun had faded into an orange afternoon. Someone had opened up the windows lining the walls, a warm breeze shifting through the hallway. The laughter from earlier had faded away, instead the singing of cicadas floated through the air.

The sound drew me in, easing the pain of the headache, the tones ignited my body like an aphrodisiac working a soothing balm into my ailments.

I couldn't remember the last time I was outside.

A week?

A couple days?

Perhaps it had only been yesterday, but it seemed so long ago. Like another lifetime. A different me.

Suddenly I craved to feel the sun kiss my skin with its rays. I yearned to roll in the grass and bask in the subtle scent of the earth.

I turned, walking to the window to lean out of it into the sunlight. The breeze felt good against my skin, pulling my hair, trailing through the strands, pulling them from the confines of the thin black elastic band.

Despite my earlier irritation, I could feel myself calm. A lightness re-entered my body, the boy wouldn't matter anymore when my parents were found, so there wasn't a real need to dwell on him anymore.

I stretched up, the sill of the window digging into the skin of my hips, the bare pads of my toes pressed against the cool wood of the floor in my effort to taste the outside. I could see into the thick line of trees that boarded the property of the mansion. It was expansive, the trees gathered together to make a dense jungle, a sea of forest green meeting the deep azure of the sky.

Clouds swam between the two, floating along in sparse clumps. For a moment, I entertained the idea of being one with the sky, a bird or cloud and I sighed. I could watch from above as everyone went about their lives laughing at their idea of problems.

"Your singing is very distracting."

My hands barely caught the sill of the window as I pitched forward, startled out of my mind. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins and I yelped as I found myself staring at the rose bushes laying two stories below.

I pulled myself straight, momentarily seeing stars, blood rushing in my ears and my feet finally made contact with the floor. I panted, still staring at the ground.

That was close, I thought to myself.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to frighten you," a soft timbre voice said.

I shook my head, my headache returning immediately with the movement, indicating to him that it wasn't his fault. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to will my heart to calm its cacophonous beating.

I glanced over, pulling myself away from the window, and saw him standing a little ways from me. He stood, arms crossed over a green t shirt, his left hand toying with the strands of his dark brown braid. Khaki shorts ran along the upper parts of his legs to his knees, exposing thin tanned legs and slim feet in sandals.

The boy's facial features were soft and feminine, the edges rounded by brown wavy bangs. His golden eyes were large, encased by thick eyelashes - two jewels atop a thin nose and a small mouth.

He was so beautiful. There was no way he wasn't a girl. Boys didn't exist that looked as feminine as he did.

"Um, is there something on my face?" He cocked his head to the side slightly. But then, while soft, the deepness of his voice was unmistakable. Definitely a boy.

I shook my head side to side.

"Well, anyway, I came over to tell you that I have a headache and that your singing was distracting, but—" he looked slightly uncomfortable. "My headache has vanished."

_Shit!_ I thought and slapped a hand over my mouth. What the hell was I doing, singing in public? _Fuckfuckfuck-_

"But the comment still stands," the boy looked a bit more determined. "You probably shouldn't sing out in the corridor."

I nodded, forcing a smile on my face. Play it off, my subconscious told me. I slipped my hand from my mouth and tucked them into the pocket of my hood.

The boy smiled, his golden eyes melting. "I'm Drew. Who are you?"

"I'm—"

"I don't read sign language." The boy looked a bit peevish. "I haven't had that class yet, only the intelligent, older kids are given that privilege."

I shook my head, smiling. I didn't mean to expect him to know the language, but the previous boy had known it, so I had slightly assumed.

"I just call you B until we can communicate, okay?"

I must have looked confused, because Drew laughed. "It's because you're staring at the sky singing, like a bird with a broken wing! So, bird starts with 'B'."

I sighed and smiled, snorting through my nose._ Well, wasn't he clever?_

"Anyway, I have to go to class! I'll see you later, B!"

* * *

><p><em>Edit 126/2015:_ The wonderful gamergirl07 helped in editing this chapter...isn't she amazing?


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: This is not my sandbox, I've just commandeered it for my own personal use._

**Chapter 4**

I felt increasingly run down, despite the fact that it was only a small ways into the afternoon. I retraced my footsteps back to my room, looking for the door that did not hold a wooden plaque. I opened the door then closed it before I flung myself onto the bed, breath rushing from my lungs as I bounced.

Drew seemed to be a pleasant boy, his demeanor kind. Even though he could not understand what I tried to convey, he made an effort to have a conversation with me.

I smiled, a friend already made.

* * *

><p>"Are you ready for the exam, Miss Flian?" Roger sat at his desk, his elbows propped up, his fingers joined together before his face.<p>

Instead of the two chairs that had yesterday sat in his office, I was directed to settle in to the single desk placed before his own. Mostly metal, the desk looked as if it had been dragged from the middle of a public school classroom. I glanced at the small pile of papers laying on the surface of the desk, a single pencil resting in a carved indent at the top.

I ran my tongue across the roof my mouth, tasting sleep. Only moments ago I was asleep in my nice, warm bed—but the events of the day before seemed to have taken a toll on me and I slept through the day and missed my appointment with Roger. Roger, being the kind soul he was, came in search of me and found me asleep, where upon he woke me and led me to his office.

"Begin when you're ready."

I nodded, yawning before shaking my head to rid myself of the remnants of sleep. I picked up the pencil, the happenings of yesterday ringing through my mind—the logical part of my brain froze my thought process. Focus. You have other things to worry about right now. I took a breath and closed my eyes, letting the problems slip away. I could do this, all I needed to focus on was the test.

I opened my eyes and flipped over the test, beginning the test.

I scanned the first problem. Then the second. The third. The fourth. Fifth. Sixth. I flipped to the end, read the last question.

I snapped my eyes up to Roger, gesturing with my hands. "What is this?"

Roger, his eyes twinkling, leaned back in his chair. "It's the test you must pass to remain here, Miss Flian."

I rolled my eyes, "I already knew that." I frowned glancing at the test, rereading the last question:

12) What is the name of this institution?

"Please, Miss Flian, there is no talking during a test."

I sighed, placing my head in my hand, propping my elbow up on the desk and turning the packet of pages back to the beginning.

1) _hat is your name?

Beneath it I wrote: "Heather Renee Flian".

It irked me to find the 'w' missing from 'what', there was an obvious space left for the letter. To ease my unrest about the missing letter, I filled in the 'w' myself.

2) _ge?

I scrunched up my nose at the letters. What the fuck? Who the hell wrote this test? How the fuck was I supposed to do this with the letters missing?

I sighed; I needed to calm down. This was a test to determine whether or not I could continue to have refuge while my parents were. . . _shit._

Test. Test. Test.

I grit my teeth and forced my attention back to the question. "ge"? "ge"?

I looked back up the first question, the first word missing a letter. The second question must then, obviously, be missing a letter. Or maybe a couple of more words, the back of my mind growled.

But what letter could it be missing? "ge". The question mark was close enough the back of the 'e' that another letter would be impossible to squeeze between, but the same amount of space was missing from the beginning of the 'ge' as was missing from between the number of the question to the "hat". The letter must belong there.

Then I mentally groaned, instantly knowing the letter.

I filled in an "a" in front of "ge", creating the word "age".

Beneath the question, I wrote in "sixteen".

3) _other's na_e?

I scoffed, as if they could trip me up with this one when the pattern had already been established. Obviously, from the previous questions, there was a letter still missing that belonged in the space. I filled in an "m" and wrote beneath the question "Sharin".

4) Father's na_e?

I filled in the missing letter in the gap and wrote in "Ted" beneath it.

5) If _ou could change _our name, what would it be?

For a moment I contemplated the question. Change my name? But I liked my name. It was beautiful, descendent from my grandmother's middle name. But still, I contemplated, what would I change my name to?

As I thought I filled in the "y" before the "ou", wanting to continue with the pattern I had already started.

I ran through so many names. Jenny? My Aunt's name was Jennifer; it held enough significance. Then I sighed. It didn't sit right in my stomach to call myself the name of a living relative, or one that I had little to no contact with.

Rachael was my best friend before I moved to England . . . but that didn't seem right either. That was her name, not mine. I rifled through girl names in my head, but I came up dry.

_Who said it needs to be a girl's name?_ A logical part of my brain supplied. The thought held some truth, but no. I didn't want a boy's name. I needed something more. Something that would belong to only me.

I wanted to be me, not my grandmother. Not anyone, just me.

It felt wrong to think this way and perhaps I was being selfish, but I wanted something that told of what was happening to me, this new beginning in the middle of the chaos my life was outlined with.

My thoughts jumped to Drew, the boy I had met following the emotional destruction of the blonde. He had named me "B"—

Then I knew.

"Beginning" I wrote.

I knew it was weird to write down a name that might not have been traditional, like Jenny or Rachael. But somehow, this seemed like a small victory, and it wasn't like I was going to have to be called "Beginning".

_But if I did, I would shorten it to Begin,_ I thought, smiling to myself.

6) What do you want to be when you grow up?

I read through the question again. No errors. No spaces. This line was completely fine. What kind of game was the writer of the test playing?

I focused on the question, there wasn't much a child of my specific nature could do. Perhaps I could be a translator, but even then it wasn't as if I was deaf.

Underneath the question I wrote "TBA" and tried to continue on to the next question:

7) _ow many languages do you know? If more t_an one, please list.

I question 7, the missing letter was back. I looked back to question 6. Something wasn't right. Why continue the charade now? I shook my head and filled in the missing letter, writing beneath question 7 "one", praying I wasn't required to already know a language other than English.

Did sign language count as a language?

I looked up to Roger. He was leaning over his desk, writing with his quill on a piece of paper. I cleared my throat, trying to catch attention.

"Miss Flian, I don't want to have to tell you again." He glanced up, his tone laced lightly with warning.

I signed my question quickly, "Can sign language be considered a language?"

"Of course, it takes supplemental study outside of your original language to learn it." I nodded my thanks before he hunched over to continue his work.

I turned back to my test, quickly erasing "one" and scratched "two". Next to it I wrote "American Sign Language" and "English".

8) H_bbies? Name as many as y_u can within the space bel_w.

I filled in the "o's" before filling a small list: reading, sleeping, and singing.

9) Wo_ld yo_ do anything to achieve yo_r goals?

I could, depending. Logic sang in the back of my head, _You would do anything to find your parents._

"Yes" I wrote, knowing I would do anything if I could find my parents, then I filled in the "u".

10) _ubject_ you've already _tudied.

This question was probably the easiest so far. Beneath the question I filled in the courses I had already had in high school. Following my completion of the question, I filled in the "s's".

11) Do you b_li_v_ in God?

To be honest, I didn't know anymore. I wanted him to be real, but I refused to believe that God would allow for my parents to be. . . I sighed. Up until recently, I had been raised to be believe in him, so why not now? Just because one thing went wrong. Beneath the question I wrote "yes".

Finally, the last question:

12) What is the name of this institution?

What was the name of this place? I'm sure I was told it; perhaps at the beginning of my stay, back when I wasn't entirely coherent?

_You still aren't entirely coherent,_ A small voice in the back of my head quipped.

I wracked my brain—why was it that I managed to come up with demeaning comments about myself, but I couldn't retain information regarding the place I was residing in. Just yesterday I had been appalled at the information that the mansion was far away from any type of civilization, shouldn't I have remembered if I had traveled that far?

I scolded myself silently; I prided myself on the ability to be attentive, but the answer alluded me.

The name. The name. Name? Name.

I glanced around the room, tracing the words along the spines of the books on the shelves lining the right side of Roger's office. Titles and authors, nothing stuck out as important. The pictures didn't display anything other than their own beautiful landscapes writhing the frames, definitely not a clue to the mystery.

I turned my attention back to my test, flipping it back to the beginning, again. I read through the questions, looking for something, anything towards a hint.

_What about the spaces?_ A voice sang in the back of my mind.

The spaces, the places for letters. Most of the questions where missing a specific letter.

1) W.

2) A.

3) M.

4) M.

5) Y.

7) H.

8) O.

9) U.

10) S.

11) E.

Wammy House. Could it _be_ that easy? No, there's no way; but I didn't have anything else. So I wrote the words beneath question 12 and sighed.

_Please be right_, I pleaded to the test.

I stood, picking up my pencil and packet.

"Done?" Roger asked, pushing his glasses up. I nodded and he set down his quill to grab the papers I extended to him. He flicked through the pages, his eyes moving as he read. Then, as he finally turned to the last page, Roger smiled. He placed the packet on his desk and stood, squaring his shoulders and folding his right arm behind his back. He bowed, his left arm extending dramatically: "Welcome to Wammy's House, Beginning."

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><p><em><strong>Edited 127/2015:** My wonderful Beta gamegirl07 has edited this chapter, please give her the best praise imaginable!_

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><p>AN:

A special thanks to my first reviewer for the story: lucifae! I'm glad you like the story and I hope to meet _all_ your expectations!

Another shout out to the few who decided to follow and favorite it! It fills me with happiness when readers enjoy the story.

I'm sorry about the shortness of the previous chapter, I needed to introduce a couple of pieces of information I couldn't fit in the earlier chapters. To make up for it, I've made this chapter much longer.

I'm eager to know what you guys think!

With mu anticipation,

AAnnR


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I hope to grow-up and own a series this beautiful...but until then, I just going to keep writing things based on other's ideas._

**Chapter 5**

"So that's it?" While felt a wave of relief wash over me I couldn't help but keep apprehension from slithering its way in and laying its own seed of doubt.

Roger smiled, catching my hand movements as he rose from his bow. "Precisely, Miss Beginning." He opened a drawer to pull out a small envelope, extending his hand and motioning for me to retrieve the package. "Here is your room key, I hope you've taken a liking to the room you have been residing in. When you return there you will find a pile of clothing; they are yours."

"I have clothes." They wouldn't have thrown away my clothes, right?

"Of course—and you are welcome to wear them—but it is customary for children of this house to be provided with custom clothing. Most children who come here do not have much and must be provided with basic amenities."

I nodded, understanding.

"Additionally, you will begin classes on Monday, three days from now. You are expected to perform to the best to your ability. Textbooks will be delivered to your room in in morning."

"Classes?" A heaviness settled over me at the prospect, "Will I be here that long?"

"We do not know how long your stay will last. So, while you are in our care we will provide you with as much as we would a permanent charge." He must have saw something in my face because Roger sighed, before moving around the desk to pull me into around hug. "L will find your parents, don't worry."

He smelled of mint and coffee, and his tweed jacket scratched my cheek as I nodded into his chest, sinking into his embrace.

After a moment he pulled back and met my gaze with a kind warm smile. "You must be starving! How about I show you to the dining room?"

I nodded, releasing him. Honestly, I wasn't all that hungry. Even though I had slept more than twenty-four hours, I just wanted to lay down in my bed.

He guided me out of his office and down the hallway towards the main entrance. The other side of expansive chamber held the opening to an equally large room. Several long, dark wooden tables ran down, parallel to the sides of the room. Handfuls of children ranging in various ages sat on cushioned benches in small pods. They talked lowly, the clinking silverware rang above their murmur. On the far wall sat an equally long table, layered with trays of food.

Roger clapped me on the shoulder, startling me. "Grab a plate, eat, and make some friends!" He gently pushed me forward, setting me into motion.

The murmuring of conversation and the clinking silverware stopped, I could feel their eyes on me. I turned back towards the entrance to the dining room, hoping Roger would smile and say: "Just kidding!" But when I turned I found he had slipped away.

Slightly unsettled, I spun back around, keeping my head down. I tucked my hands into the pouch of my hoodie, absently realizing I must not have changed my clothes yesterday as my hands brushed against hard crumbs laying in the seam.

I walked a straight path to the buffet table along the back wall. Aromas saturated the air as I got closer, my stomach growling. Taking up a plate I absent mindedly ladled food onto a plate, plucking silverware from a side basket at the end.

Steam from the food wafted into my face as I made my way down to an empty area and sat my tray down. I slid onto the wooden bench and bent over my tray.

I picked up my fork, the cool metal resting comfortably within my fingers. I plunged the spikes into the steaming portions of food on my plate, bring it to my lips. I opened my mouth and closed my mouth around the end of the fork, pulling the metal out as my lips stayed clamped closed.

The food tasted heavenly, but I couldn't bring myself to eat. My stomach sat in flutters, a strange ailment preventing me from swallowing the food I was attempting to devour.

In the end, I spat the food in a napkin procured from a basket on the table.

"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?" Drew slid into the seat next to mine, placing his tray on the table. "As you are still here, I can only assume that you passed the test." Like yesterday his hair was flipped over to the front side of his shoulder in a braid, the end tuffs disarrayed, as if he been toying with. His clothes were the same as yesterday's: an emerald green tee-shirt with khaki shorts and sandals.

"Been assigned to classes yet?" He flicked his braid back over his shoulder and settled a napkin across his lap.

I shook my head, Roger hadn't talked to me about which classes I would be taking, only that they would be starting on Monday.

Drew took a bite of his roll, chewed then swallowed. "I wouldn't worry about it...they'd have taped it to your door by Monday."

"I don't sign up for them?!" I signed, my hands moving frantically as my fork clattered to my plate.

"Woah—" Drew exclaimed, shaking his head. "We really need to get you some sticky notes, that way we can communicate."

I nodded, of course I had to be acquainted with someone who couldn't understand sign language. So many questions I wanted to ask—what was happening, why couldn't they have sent me to a school in London, who was L, what was this school—but instead of finding answers to these questions, I was stuck in the mess hall having a one sided conversation with a person who couldn't understand me.

"Anyway," Drew continued. "They choose the courses for you. They always give the ones they know you'll do well in...in fact, I've never had a class I didn't like!"

Well, I suppose that was, in its own way, a relief; but the seed of doubt grew a bit larger, what if I was the one exception?

"You'll adjust quickly to the classes." Drew said, continuing after swallowing a few mouthfuls of his food. "Their curriculum is intense, but the class sizes are insanely small. You'll get a one on one experience with your professors."

I picked my fork back up, resting the slightly re-chilled metal in the folds of my fingers. I poked at my food with the utensil. _At least that sounds intriguing,_ I thought. And it was true. I hated boredom, so the probability of being one student of thirty in a class seemed like it would increase the chance of boredom. I was certainly willing to try if it meant I wasn't sleeping all day.

Drew rambled on as I half listened, "Wammy's House is the most amazing place I've ever been too! The other orphanages were disgusting and their residents were as intelligent as a rock." He shoveled some of his food into his mouth, chewed then swallowed. "I've been to five before coming here. Many of the others were transferred to Wammy's from orphanages, since their talents and intelligence made them social outcasts." Food. Chew. Swallow. "There's actually a study done by a man named Mustaffa R. Ahmad about the relationship between emotional intelligence with skills competency. He says-"

"YOU FUCKING ALBINO PILLOW!"

Drew's rant was cut off as an intense shout echoed through the room. We turned our attention to the source: three boys. They were located further to the front than Drew and I, probably just a handful of steps from the door that led to the entrance hall.

I recognized the boy standing nearest to the doors. He also wore the same clothes (all black). This led me to believe that he and Drew, and the whole population of this mansion for that matter, probably possessed several pairs of the same outfit. While he wasn't tall, he was definitely slender. His hair hung at the same length, golden threads encasing two icy blue eyes. He was the boy who had run into me yesterday.

To his right stood a tall and equally slender boy. His back to us, he wore a red and black horizontal striped shirt and baggy older jeans. A random strap was wrapped around the back of his head, making his already messy brown hair insanely hectic.

Between them sat, from what I could see through the barrier of their bodies, a figure enveloped in white.

"You KNOW this is OUR spot!" The blonde's voice, while still loud, had lowered, only raising to drive emphasis to certain words.

A single murmur rose from between the two boys. "You sit a few steps closer to the door, Mello."

The blonde scowled, his face turning red. "NO! We sit HERE!" He clenched his fists, knuckles turning white. "I don't want to eat anywhere near YOU," He sneered.

For a moment there was silence before the boy in all white spoke again, "There are plenty of the seats you can occupy that aren't near me."

"Mello, it's fine," The taller boy moved towards the blonde, wrapping a hand around the blonde boy's bicep. "We can just sit somewhere else—"

"No," He spat out. "I'm not hungry anymore."

"But I _am!_" The taller boy whined.

The blonde boy glanced at his friend before ripping his arm from the taller boy's grasp. "What_ever_." He turned and stormed out of the dining hall, the tall boy, despite his previous statement, following.

As the boys made their exit the murmuring of the conversations rose again. I heard Drew speak from behind me, "That was messier than usual."

Usual? _Usual_. As in, happen often. God, they fought like that often? I sighed, there never seemed to be a quiet moment here.

I turned back, Drew had returned to his food, shoveling forkfuls unto his mouth. "Usually," he started after he swallowed his food. "Matt can calm Mello down enough for there not to be an incident, but today something seems to have upset him." Drew dabbed his mouth with the corner of his napkin. "From what I'm told, Mello hates Near."

Drew gestured with his head. I turned my head, my gaze landing on the lone figure in that direction. "There, the albino? That's Near."

And Drew was right. The boy in all white was literally in all white. His hair, skin, shirt, and pants were bleached in the unblemished color. Near sat, his knee pressed up against his chest, the front of his leg resting against the edge of the table. His posture deplorable, he seemed to slouch over his knee as he used his fork to gingerly stab at a piece of food and bring it his mouth.

"The other two were, obviously, Mello and Matt," Drew said, the tone indicating the topic was over.

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><p><strong><em>Edited 201/2015:_**_ This chapter was edited, on this date, by gamegirl07. Being the amazing person she is, she is the one who fixed a majority of the dumb little mistakes I keep on making!_

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><p>AN:

I hope this story's chapter is to your liking. Your love keeps me very motivated...so don't be afraid to share it.

AAnnR


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: Do you ever dream that something was real, but then wake up to realize it wasn't? Well, I had a dream that I owned Death Note and then I woke up...apparently I'm only that talented in my dreams. -^^-_

**Chapter 6**

"I'll see you later, okay B?" Drew waved, flashing a polite smile as he left, his sandals snapping against his heels with a sharp noise.

My own smile slowly fell away when he rounded the corner and sighed loudly. I leaned against the cool dark wood of my bedroom door, feeling overwhelmed. The weight that had risen from my soul in Roger's office suddenly re-laid itself across my shoulders. I wasn't tired, probably a consequence from my sudden demented ability to sleep for an entire day, and I had no desire to sit around in my room waiting for sleep to drag me under its seemingly blissful folds.

So I pushed off from the door and walked down the hallway, suddenly content to just walk the hallways and explore.

The shadows and dim lights lent the corridor an inky mysterious hue. The light seemed to pulsate with an indeterminable tempo, flickering against the wallpaper, casting shadows. With the curtains drawn, the moonlight was stifled, an additional illuminance that might have made the air less eerie.

I found my way to the grand staircase, the chandelier dimmed to an almost impossible level—the only real light coming from wall fixtures mounted along the partitions tracing the lip of the second floor. I followed the path around, ignoring the stairs in favor of the trail across from the corridor opposite the landing. The hallway exactly mirrored the other previous one, the same dark wooden doors lined one side while the windows lined the opposite.

I crossed my arms, slightly wishing I had on a hoodie. The hallway wasn't cooler—the entire mansion seemed to stay at a constant temperature, even with the windows open—but the backwards familiarity sent a wave of vertigo through my body and felt a headache itch at the nerve of my temple. My bare feet slapped against the chilly floor, the impact sounding much louder now that the mansion was silent.

I passed by fewer doors on my way down the hall, the corridor seemed much shorter than mine, and I quickly came to an entrance barred by two large double doors.

They seemed to be made from the same wood as all the other doors in mansion, but instead of the plain polish on flat grains this door sat with an intensely intricate set of carvings etched into it. Unexpectedly started, I squinted through the shadows. The deepest lines were centered between the doors, the crack of the door separating the picture in half, providing a mirrored image. The lines beginning in the middle swooped out, growing fainter before dissolving into the flatness of the door panel.

I reach up to trace an edge of the picture, its smooth coolness allowed my finger to glide along on its journey to completion. Such care, I thought. It felt as if the lines were carved too beautifully for a machine to have shaved a designed from wood. No, someone had to have taken the time to sculpt this handsome door.

Absentmindedly, I wondered what could lie behind such a beautifully detailed work. Surely this wasn't the entrance to a random hall or room. No, this room has to be important. No other door was this grand, not even the front entrance doors seemed to have this majestic door's grand magnitude.

I grinned at the thought, sliding my hands to the equally gorgeous metal handles, eager to quell my adventurous itch. I tugged hard, checking to see if the doors were locked, and I flew backwards. My grip slid from the handles, the force sending me to the floor a few paces away.

A narrow trim of light illuminated the ground before the doors, the trail slowly thinned as the doors slid closed. I pushed myself up, wincing at my own eagerness and felt a bit of embarrassment crawl across my cheeks, making them warm. Good thing no was here to see that! Shaking my head I reached forward and pulled the door open.

The extravagance of the door was not misleading to the magic behind it. The wood from the hallway stopped at the entrance to the room, leading to a lush, soft carpet. I curled my toes in it as my gaze flitted through the massive room; the room was incredible, certainly much larger than any other room in the entire mansion. Mounted on the carpet, lined up in intense layers, were rows and rows of bookcases. While none of them held the carefully intricate carving on the door, they were still made with dark, polished wood.

I followed down one of the paths. Rows and rows of books were squeezed into every free space, every nook and cranny, every hole and crevice. The magnitude of the numbers where inequitable, and I found myself wondering just how many books were there in this room?

The path turned right, every so often an opening would appear to lead into a little study nook or another pathway lined with books. I followed along the path I took, staying true to my decision, allowing my curiosity to lead me forward. Eventually, the path abruptly ended, leading into a circular area. Several other path lead to this place and I contemplated on whether or not this was the center of this maze.

The room was certainly less dim than the hallway. Lamps sat in several nooks, illuminating separate spaces in soft light, while a large chandelier, similar to the one hanging in the foyer, rested from an inlaid dome. Across its expanse laid swirling masses of color, starting dark and then fading into light.

"That's the galaxy." A gentle voice lilted behind me and I turned. He sat, knee pushed up against his chest, stacking plethora of multicolored Lego pieces into buildings, several of which seemed to be finished; stacked into impossibly tall skyscrapers, reaching much higher than he could seemingly stand, even with a chair. This impossibility left me slightly baffled, so I waved my hand to grab his attention from his Legos.

"I can see you just fine," He didn't glance up, he continued to stack the miniature building blocks. "So, please continue."

"How did you manage to get these so tall?" I signed, feeling a bit foolish gesturing to him when I wasn't quite sure he was actually watching.

But, true to his word, he answered, "With a ladder."

Perplexed I search around the room in search of the object, but the only objects were he, his Legos, and a few arm chairs surrounded by books. "There isn't a ladder here."

"I had the maid take it approximately twenty minutes ago, I had no further use for it." Click. Click. Click.

Ah. I stood for a while, watching the building grow until it looked as if it were an expansive warehouse or department store. "What is that one supposed to be?"

He was silent for a moment before answering, obviously caught up in his own revelations. "It's an airport."

An airport? He would have to expand that particular building much larger than he was already doing, so I told him as much, but he replied with, "This is Kansas City International Airport, one of the most efficient in the world."

I blinked, taking in the information before he continued. "The airport consists of four different area for flight: International, Eastern, Western, and non-public. I am trying to complete the Eastern building."

Such a tremendous goal, and the buildings were so detailed, pillars and windows and doors and all. "Would you like help? I'm pretty god at following instru—"

"It's not necessary," He interrupted me.

I nodded, feeling a little bit uncomfortable now that I was plainly unneeded. Awkwardly, I watched as the albino stacked block after block, his porcelain hands working with such surety it never faltered from its path, moving fluidly. His other hand was gracefully raised, twirling a thin amount of white hair around his fingers.

Why am I staring at him? I felt my body tense with the amount of awkwardness I felt from standing and watching him build. So, I turned away to take a random path back into the maze, the bookcases quickly encasing me into their embrace.

So many books—titles in various types of writing. Some were evident to the contents, such as The Multi-Theories of the Universe and Their Mothers, while some were much more obscure: The Color of Emotion. I traced the edges of the shelves as I walked, the polished wood cool against my fingertips, until one caught my eye: The Beauty of the Woods. I pulled the book from the shelf, a layer of dust laid on the upper edges of the binding, where the book had been exposed to air instead of sitting against the other books.

I wiped off the dust with the sleeve of my hoodie, finding the binding of the book to be beautiful. Its dark navy suede was texture against my fingers as I pulled them down the spin, leaving a thin, dark trail.

Intrigued, I opened the book to a random page and found a poem, describing the intelligence of wildlife. I flicked farther in, turning to an abstract poem about the life of a tree. I read several more before I replaced the book back on the shelf.

The next book I pulled was bound by a hard, yellow cardboard with frayed corners and titled Me Amour. I flipped through the pages, finding several of them dog-eared and torn. The book was filled with page after page of poems about romance and I silently scoffed a bit—no wonder that book was so over used!

I laughed and replaced the book on the shelf and continued on my way, following where the corridor of books led me. After a few moments the path spit me out into a small area, again, surrounded by bookcases. The bookcases arched out in a semicircle before coming to contact with a wall holding a red curtain covered window. However, instead of books in the bookcases there were rows and rows of CDs, tapes, records and sheet music. Along the edges of the "room" sat a couple of record players, on the lone table held a small pile of CDs and tape players. Along with the table, several plush chairs sat randomly throughout the space, each covered with its own blanket.

The room's music selection seemed expansive, and, as I analyzed and searched through the massive collection, I found it was rather diverse as well. The time periods seemed to span from medieval to present day, and were categorized from earliest time period to most recent. Intrigued, I picked out a CD from the earlier time periods titled A Collection of Gregorian Chants by Hildeburg von Bilden, then another further down that mentioned something about a tribute to Beethoven.

Taking one of the CD players from the table, I slid the Gregorian CD into the chamber. I walked over to one of the larger chairs, pulled the blanket from where it draped over the back and pulled it over myself as I sat down in the seat. Reclining, I moved to make myself comfortable before placing the headphones over my ears and pressing play.

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><p><strong><em>Edited 0201/2015:_**_ gamegirl07 has edited this chapter for all of you...I owe her so much already I've only just started on this journey...so much thanks._

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><p>AN:

What do you guys think? I know it's a bit boring, but these chapters need to be written for the sake of character development and setting up the first story arc.

Stay with me and hopefully it will be worth it.

AAnnR


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I don't think the writers of Death Note write fanfiction...but if they did it would be seven thousand times better than this...can you guys tell that I'm jealous of their talent?_

**Chapter 7**

The spray from the shower cap was warm, the tendrils slipping down my bare skin. Having had gone so long without a shower, it was a novelty to scrub myself clean. Usually I neglected such frivolities, but lately I had noticed the amount neglect my body had been receiving.

I felt my tense muscles slowly relax beneath the spray—perhaps sleeping in an armchair wasn't the best on my body. I softly groaned, lathering soap onto my skin and hair—the scent easily could have been identified as mint, aloe, roses, or department perfume, but I appreciated the cleansed feeling than the scent of generic shampoo. Humming some random Gregorian chant, I turned the shower off and pulled back the curtain and grabbed the towel I had laid on the lid of the toilet. I wrapped the fluffy towel around my body, moving up to the sink to brush my teeth.

I should do that more often, I thought to myself as the mint from the toothpaste stung my tongue and throat. I was certainly in a more stable place where I could actually take showers...as many as I wanted...for as long as I wanted. I instantly sighed, this was heaven. I spat out the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed the sink and toothbrush with a bit of water from the faucet.

A rush of chilly air rushed past me as I opened the door and walked into my room—the air drying up the moisture from my skin. The light from outside filtered in through thin, see-through curtains, the windows open to allow in a cool breeze of air.

When I returned from the library this morning, I had found my room completely clean and unpacked. The box in the closet was gone, the clothes in it cleaned and hung on hangers or put away in the chest of drawers. They had gone to the trouble of finding a beautiful picture frame for the few photos I had stashed in the box and set them on the nightstand next to my now made bed. The desk had been stocked with supplies and my mini bookshelf filled with reference books. Additionally, just like Roger had said, there was a stack of clothing laying on my bed.

Bending over, I took the towel from around my body and wrapped my hair with it and settled it into a high turban. I crossed the room and pulled open the top drawer to grab some undergarments. I quickly pulled them on and crossed the room to the closet, ignoring the clothes on the bed. I pulled a dark green hoodie and a faded pair of jeans from the hangers and pulled them on as well.

I grabbed a hairbrush from the bathroom and returned to the bedroom to sit on my bed. I pulled the towel from my head and started to brush it out, starting from the end and working my way up. The tips of my hair wetting the fabric of my sweater as I used my shoulder as a backboard to brush my hair against.

Was this a normal occurrence? People cleaning my room? I mean, I couldn't complain if it were, it was really convenient, but it seemed rather unnecessary. It is an orphanage in a MANSION, my brain shouted at me. Of course the owner of the mansion wouldn't want the kids to destroy their rooms.

I shrugged, finishing my hair and pulled open a drawer from the nightstand and fished around for a hair tie. Upon finding one, I pulled my hair into a low side ponytail and tucked it into my hoodie, the wet hair slowly turning warm against my skin.

And these rooms! I sighed, falling back against my bed. Everything about them was comfortable, from the bed to the shower! Even the way the house sat in relation to windows allowed for the morning sun to peer through and warm up the room enough to rise from beneath your covers without getting chilly. It was certainly the type of room I'd never had before—even when my family and I had a home.

Home. I could remember a home...one that tasted of love and felt like warmth. Perhaps I remembered laughter and delicious smells wafting from the kitchen as my mother and father cooked, taking turns with the dishes, talking all the while. Or I remembered the softness of my mother or the rumbling of my father's chest as he talked.

It felt like my brain was stretching to remember that far in the past, as if my consciousness was going to detach itself from my cranium and float off past the confines of the room and into the clouds.

I closed my eyes, reveling in the feeling, the sun from the window warmed my body—for moment I contemplated on whether this what cats felt like when curled up in a ball on a sunny part of the floor.

"Come on, Elzi!" A patter of feet and a gaggle of giggles crescendoed coming from the hallway as it passed my door. "Let's get the others! I want to play tag!"

I jumped in my skin, Kira catching my heart(1). Pressing a hand to my chest I rolled off the bed, the grogginess that had weighed down my bones were gone. I stretched, feeling the emptiness of my stomach protest at being pulled by stiff muscles.

Food, I thought to myself, standing up and walking across my room to the door. Sounds fantastic.

I grabbed the key sitting on the top of the dresser, exited my room, locking it behind me. The windows were once again open in the hallway as I retraced my way to the dining room, hoping there would be food out from lunch.

Much to my dismay, the food from lunch had already been cleared away. Instead, a large basket of fruit sat on each of the tables, filled with apples, pears, and bananas. While I had hoped for an actual meal, I knew better than to go snooping in the kitchens this late in the day—the kitchen hands would only shoo me away. Instead, I stalked over to one of the tables and plucked a pear from the top of the stack and bit into its juicy center. Real pears were so much better than the cheap .90 cent canned ones my parents used to buy me.

I felt the juice from the pear dribble down my chin as I sucked the loose wetness from the indent I had made before swiping the trail away with the sleeve of my hoodie.

"Come on Jean!" A voice called from the entrance hall, feet pounding on the stairs.

I continued to eat my pear, the flesh of the fruit sinfully sweet against my tongue; that was the second time today someone was rushing through the mansion, and I had been here long enough to gather that this was a regular occurrence. Children often ran around the mansion, giggling and playing. To be certain, I was certainly not used to random moments of ecstatic high pitched screaming.

I made my way to the entrance hall in time to see the panels of the front doors swing closed with a loud bang. Curious, I walked to the doors and peeked through the window.

A gaggle of children stood a bit off from the porch, gathered together listening to a boy standing in front of them. He, like the rest of them, seem about thirteen. He had cropped brown hair, tanned skin, a dark black shirt with white gym shorts, and no shoes.

I opened the door, the young boy's words flitting through the crack. "—the boundaries are a half mile out, okay? We don't need to find anyone in a tree later tonight."

The enraptured kids giggled as someone cried out, "That was once!"

I walked outside, closing the door behind me. The kid at the front of the group glanced towards me and waved, smiling. "You here for forest tag?"

I shrugged, the group of kids turned their heads to see who the he was talking to.

"Come on," a girl with blond pigtails urged. "You'll have fun!"

The crowd of kids exclaimed in agreement, cheering for her to join. A bit self-consciously, I nodded. Sure I would play, what was there to lose?

The small crowd of kids cheered, several coming forward to grasp at my hands to pull me towards the woods—one of the kids grabbed the mostly eaten pear from my hand and chucked it into the flower bed while I was distracted by the children swarming around me.

They were all so cute, most of them shorter than me by a least a foot. They laughed and shoved each other, each one shouting over the other to be heard as they asked me questions.

"Where are you from?"

"How'd your parents die?"

"Do you like pie?"

"Can you draw?"

"Are you smart like L?"

I smiled through it all, their questions amusing, if not a bit weird. Eventually, realized that I wasn't going to answer them the ignored me as they led me to the forest.

The forest floor was soft, only a few sticks poked at the bottom of my un-calloused feet. For a moment I contemplated returning to the mansion for my sneakers, but then I noticed that the rest of the kids were not wearing shoes and I decided to forgo them—I didn't feel the need to be wimpy around children younger than me. Ya, until I get the underside of my foot cute with a sharp stick, my brain spat at me.

I shook my head, focusing on the kids as they dispersed into the woods, separating from one another in favor of solitude amongst the pines and oaks. I followed a little girl who looked to be about ten, unwilling to be alone.

She led me to a dense part of the forest, the way threaded with layers upon layers of branches. The girl was lithe, her form moving through the forest with such precision that she barely disturbed the foliage. I, on the other hand, fought with the trees, their limbs scratching my skin while their roots sought to pull at my feet and trip me.

We walked and walked, the way a constant battle. Eventually, the girl took pity on me and took my hand in hers to make sure I did not fall behind and I felt my face grow hot from embarrassment.

At random intervals, kids screamed and laughed, their voices echoing off the trees. Several different voices cried out, "You're it!" before sounds of breaking branches and rustling bushes rattled through the air.

Eventually we met another person on our journey to avoid those who were "it".

The girl, noticed him long before I did. She pulled me into a glade before holding a finger to her lips to signal my silence, which I had no intention of going against, pulled me behind a large tree trunk. We peeked around heads around the tree just as a skinny, tall boy crept into the clearing. He was crouched low, his head turning from side to side, his eyes narrowed.

He was searching for something, but what?

His prey.

I felt a shiver ride up my spine—what were these kids? Some kind of super humans? This didn't feel like a simple game of tag. No, this was much more intense. A fight. A competition between the hunted and the hunter.

"I know you're here, Alight." The boy's voice floated through the air, a barking soprano. "You and the new girl."

Alight looked at me and sighed, no doubt weighting the probability of successfully escaping. She looked at me with a kind of pity in her eyes—damn, she sure was judgmental for a ten year old.

"Sorry," she whispered. Her hands struck out, pushing me from behind the tree into the dell where the boy stood, waiting. As I fell on to the tall grass Alight ran in the opposite direct, her voice peeling with laughter.

Oh God, I breathed, not wanting to turn around. He was right there. I could practically feel him approaching. I closed my eyes, awaiting the inevitable—

"DINNER!"

A woman's voice peeled through the air.

"Aw, man!" The boy whined. I turned around, the intensity was drained from the boy. "I almost won," he crossed his arms and pouted.

I sighed in relief and laid back, extremely exhausted. The sky had faded from a bright blue to a hue of pink, purple, and orange clouds.

"Get up," the boy stood above me, holding his hand out. "We have to get to dinner, and I'll get scolded if I leave you out here by yourself."

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><p><strong><em>Edited 0201/2015:_**_ Edited by the fabulous gamegirl07...is there a way that I can just ship all my love to her in the shape of puppies? Because (assuming I had the funds) I would in a heartbeat._

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><p>(1) - I was thinking that, at this point in the Death Note timeline, there would be several sayings that probably alluded to Kira's influence. Around this time it's about April 2004, so Kira would have influenced much of the world's pop culture already.<p>

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><p>AN:

What do you guys think? The competition to intense, even in a game of tag? Perhaps I should notate everything important in the chapter here...so you guys pick up on it? What do you think? Send me a pm on your opinion...

Love,

AAnnR


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